He's Family
by Bediz
Summary: Two Dementors attack Harry Potter, but he's not alone. He feels, probably for the first time in his life, responsibility for the life of his cousin on whose hands he's suffered much. He fights rather outside the box and it seems to impress Uncle Vernon...
1. Chapter 1

New to this business, encouragement in the form of reviews would be much appreciated. Rating is subject to change if at any point I snap and say "in for a penny." I take credit for only the development of the plot as of this chapter barely introduced (*wink wink*); everything else belongs to whoever they belong.

Blunder on my part: it wasn't Sirius' murder Harry witnessed, it was Cedric's. Changes are made accordingly.

Intro

Oh, shit! That about covered the situation Dudley and I were in. Sure, he had the brawn but fighting Dementors wasn't as much about muscle mass as it was about the quality of the inner, primitive brain. That is to say, how strong you can feel happiness is how strong you can fight a Dementor. Peachy prospect considering I had kind of watched a fellow school mate get murdered right beside me and witnessed the restoration of the Darkest wizard of the modern times to a body and power a few months previously. As I thought about our chance of survival –for some unfathomable reason, I thought it slim—which could turn out to be self-fulfilling prophecy too as I had to feel happy to fight off Dementors- stars over the deserted park were blinking off one by one.

I could feel Dudley shuddering. The poor fucker was already freaking out if his shudder was any indication. "Dudders," I said, conveying as much encouragement with my voice as I could, "we're going to get through this, understand? We're going to get through this. Now get a grip!" I gripped his shoulder— damn, he wasn't joking about that boxing school thing, was he?

Dudley whimpered. Big D had been reduced to whimpers by li'l Dementies. A stupid grin must've appeared on my face because I was certainly feeling like it.

"Ah, fuck it!" I exclaimed in order to cover the whines and snivels and whatnot. I pulled my wand and pointed it at Dudley. "Fuck the ministry, fuck the underage magic laws, and fuck, most importantly, the statute of secrecy." I watched Dudley's eyes grow as big as saucers with a sick joy and let out a cheering charm to "tickle" him somewhat.

Dudley snapped out of whatever grip his mind was in and was able to utter acridly, "You used _it_ on me! The _M_ thing!"

I was already imagining the owl flying towards me, sent by the Ministry of Magic, in order to save Dudley's miserable life, so it was well within my rights not to take any shit from him about using magic. _"Silencio!"_

He took a swipe or three at me shortly after but I was already expecting it so dodging wasn't much problem.

He took another swipe and I just slid under his arm, grasped his hair and jerked his head skywards and kept his head fixed with an arm around his throat. When I was sure he could see the faint outline of the Dementor gliding towards us, I leaned into his ear and whispered, "That thing's going to suck your soul." He stopped struggling, so I went on, "If you do _as_ I say, _when_ I say it, we just might survive this with our souls intact. Do you understand?" Upon his nod, I lifted the Silencer.

"I'll punch its nose in, whatever that thing is!" He exclaimed after a few seconds.

"Dudders," I cautioned, "we don't have the time to go into a lengthy debate about prays and predators, so I'll say this: when you see a Dementor, you run." I turned to look at the Dementor which was rapidly gaining on us, and then spotted another Dementor maneuvering to cut us off. I did believe in rules of the thumb; and one goes as, if any one thing is bad, two of the same is even worse.

The park in which Dudley and I were having a friendly chat had two exits and there were one Dementor at each by now. Instead of waiting for the pincer to shut, I grabbed Dudley's arm and pulled him towards the southern exit which would take us conveniently closer to the Privet Drive where somebody from the Order of the Phoenix should be standing guard. Then again, that very same guard should've been following me, so that particular support was shaky.

Gravel crunched under our feet as we traversed a winding path through absolute darkness save the slim light my wand managed to provide—even that was blinking out at times.

I felt despair get hold of me; it might've been literal for all I knew about Dementors—the idea of some invisible tentacle touching my soul sent a shiver down my spine… which was a clear indication that the pathway we were treading on was taking us ever closer to one of the Dementors. In order for the both of us to survive, I had to fight it off. I could've done better by myself but no matter how worthless Dudley might be, he was my cousin. With that in mind, and repeating it as a mantra, I cast another Cheering Charm on Dudley. I had my wits about me, so I couldn't risk casting it on myself and going all giddy.

"Hey!" exclaimed Dudley, "Where did the stars go? It's such a beautiful night too!"

I pulled on his arm as strongly as I could, "Dudley, we're going to die if you don't move, so less lookie and talkie, more walkie, alright?"

He paused for a fair few seconds to comprehend the direness of the situation, and then responded, "Well, it's a good day to die—wasn't there a commander who said that? Or night, a good night. To die, I mean."

The spell had clearly confused him but he had at least begun walking again. "I don't know who said that but I'd much rather live and tell a tale of this day to my grand-children. So keep walking, yeah?"

Dudley frowned in deep thought, "I like kids!"

Dum. Dum-dum. Dum-dum. No rip at the firmament, no volcano forming right before us, no abyss under our feet to swallow us. When I ascertained that the world wasn't coming to an abrupt end, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Dudley, you may've just given us a chance to fight!"

Dudley began to giggle –yes, giggle!- when he heard my laugh. "Make love, not fight," he said, "fighting is bad."

"Oh, do go on, Dudley; a few more statements like those, I could take on a score of Dementors!"

Easier said than done, that one. The puff of white smoke that left my wand when I incanted _"Expecto Patronum!"_ was all that was required to remind me of the fact that mirth just doesn't cut it for this particular spell. Memories of true happiness were hard to come by at this point in my life, though… and the Dementor was closing in on us.

"_Reducto!"_ caused no visible effect whatsoever on the Dementor whose suckling breaths were audible now. Another _"Reducto!" _had met the same fate.

It was freezing cold and pitch dark. So I did what our primitive forefathers had done to fight those two particular scares, I lit a fire, _"Incendio!"_ which caused a tiny whiff of black smoke rise from where the spell touched the Dementor. It seemed like the repugnant thing had recoiled just a little bit at the spell. It was only logical, wasn't it, that a thing which thrived in cold and dark should be repelled with heat and light?

I said that I'm a staunch believer in rules of the thumb, yeah? One says that life and death situations aren't really the time to try out new spells… Fuck that! There was a mighty good fires spell that I'd only come across once when I was researching dragons and how to fight one; the spell, Fiend Fire, was being compared to the Dragon Fire, and it did surmount the Dragon Fire in almost every aspect save –the only item I could readily remember- it was illegal and could lend you in Azkaban for a long stay. Fuck that too!

I brandished my trusted wand on the Dementor. "_Fiendfyre!" _Only the sound of rushing wind met my ears. I waited a second, maybe two but that was doubtful, and then cast the spell again, "Fiendfyre!" much to my disappointment because the result was the same. "FIENDFYRE!" I shouted at the top of my lungs right after the second disappointing spell which had for some reason left me dizzy. I faintly saw a spark form on the Dementor's gray, ragged robe but within a second, it was completely engulfed in flames that I could feel burning my skin three yards away.

I was heavily leaning on Dudley's shoulder by the time I could comprehend the fact that I had cast one of the darkest spells in the wizards' literature not once but three times in rapid sequence. My legs were rubbery and the seemingly sentient fox was approaching us. I wasn't near ready to meet my maker, so I urged Dudley, "Run, take us home! Go around the fire, it's cursed!" My mouth thankfully was running as fast as ever.

And we ran. Around the Cursed Fire. Out of the park gate. Down the street. And, at long last, home. To safety.

"Dementors!" I announced our presence.

"There was a fire! You should've seen it, Mom! It was wicked!" Dudley coined in. Then he added, "But Harry said it was cursed. Cursed is bad, isn't it, Dad?"

There was a flurry of movement and questions one from which I could hardly tell apart another, so I ignored all until I was handed a glass of ice cold water. I drank deeply the half I hadn't spilt on the floor. I did regain some sense, and with it came the awareness of shivers and tremors.

"What happened?" asked Uncle Vernon, "What have you done to our Dudley!" He was clearly in charge this time unlike most "incidents" related to magic where Aunt Petunia would take the reins.

"Two Dementors attacked." I replied to the best of my ability. "Incinerated one. Dudley got us out."

Uncle Vernon looked at Dudley suspiciously, as if saving me was a questionable behavior. He turned his sight at me again, "What's a Derangator, boy!"

To my utter surprise, it was Aunt Petunia who answered the question, "Dementor, a soul sucking creation of _his_ folk."

"I don't know who created them," I said, "but what I know is that when they suck one's soul, the result isn't pretty, so…" I trailed off. I wasn't one to toot my own horn. I also didn't have the energy to take the credit anyway.

"And you incinerated one, you said?"

"Yes, I did."

"How?"

"Dudley told you, Cursed Fire. Fiendfyre."

Both adults were alarmed at this revelation. Needless to say, I couldn't care less.

Uncle Vernon's alarmed state didn't keep him from questioning further for long though, "If you hadn't burned this Dementon thing, he would've sucked our Dudley's soul, wouldn't it?"

I hadn't the soundness of mind to figure out if it was rhetorical or not, so I answered just to be sure, "yes, it would suck both our souls."

"So you saved Dudley's life?"

Again, rhetorical status not established, "He's family," I said, the first thing to come to my mind, "he's blood." I looked at Dudley as I pronounced him "family" and "blood." He had already dozed off on the chair he was sitting in. So much for his help!

Uncle Vernon's brows furrowed, which wasn't a good sign at all. I couldn't think of any good reason why it could've been directed at me, -though he didn't necessarily need a reason for that,- so for one short moment, I took pity on whomever its target might've been.

"Here," said Uncle Vernon, handing two parchments to Aunt Petunia, "you do it while I go and…" he took off toward the hallway before finishing his sentence and we listened to him lumber up the stairs.

Aunt Petunia visibly shook herself into action. "These came while you were gone; one is from the Ministry of M-magic," she stumbled on the word but soldiered on; Aunt Petunia, ever the brave one, "the other is from Arthur Weasley, that _rude_ man who came over to _our_ place."

"What do they say?" I prodded. I already knew who Arthur Weasley was.

"The ministry charges you with underage magic use in full sight of _decent folk _and informs you that someone will be coming over to snap your wand."

How was it even possible that words could confuse the nervous system? It was as if I was freezing to death while someone was pouring boiling water on me.

Aunt Petunia disclosed the other letter's content despite my shell-shocked state, "In the other letter, it says that the 'Order' is coming to get you, so you shouldn't leave the house no matter what and you shouldn't surrender your wand."

"Let me get this straight," I said, "He says that I shouldn't leave the house _and_ I shouldn't surrender my wand when the Ministry comes a-knocking. Sounds like mutually ex-"

Uncle Vernon chose that time to come back with his double-barrel in hand and a hunting belt over his shoulder with as many shotgun shells in it as it allowed to be carried.

"Whom do we declare war on?" I asked.

Ambivalence was clear on Uncle Vernon's face, "Stop the cheek, boy! You're-" and he made a choking sound here, "-family," he finished.

I couldn't believe what my ears was transmitting to my brain, but it surely wasn't any reason to not get into the family car when Uncle Vernon wanted to actually help me for the first time in my life… and on through the night we rode in grave silence…


	2. Chapter 2

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><p>Chapter I - In the Middle of Nowhere<p>

Give me a fucking break!

After a very long and tiring journey south-east bound, in total silence, we had arrived at no-fucking-where at all. I remembered this nowhere from my eleventh birthday though; there upon the beach lay the same rotten row boat that had carried us to the island upon which a solitary building, a light house, which stood sentinel over the raging waters of the North Sea- a dismal prospect, to say the least. Then again, it's said that beggars can't be choosers, so I tried not to grumble as much as I was entitled to; I wasn't the one rowing the boat at the very least.

Dudley had been woken up right after Uncle Vernon showed up fit to fight in some war waged against the fowl kind. The Cheering Charm had worn off while he was asleep and he was all nerves for ten straight minutes. Not much was accomplished by the adults fussing over their precious Duddikins in that time span. After that, another ten or fifteen minutes were all that we needed to gather up whatever was necessary and hit the road… for over two hours…

How it was possible to travel from Surrey to where I knew from a sign to be the outskirts of somewhere called Bridlington in a little over two hours without magical assistance was a feat unexplainable. How we weren't pulled over more than thirty times as one might expect indeed a small miracle in itself. Two hundred and fifty miles, divided by, let's say, two and a half because I never liked odd numbers, would be about a hundred miles per hour travel speed. This country needed to learn a thing or thirty about counter-terrorism; I had most probably destroyed a whole park after all and our flight from the crime scene was as subtle as a Concord breaking the sound barrier over a city. All in all, I couldn't complain.

The voyage –pronounced as the French would for extra sarcasm- from the shore to the island's pier took virtually the same amount of time as the car travel; why must it always be stormy here, for fuck's sake! Silence wasn't broken until we disembarked.

Four hours' silence is just about my limit. So I couldn't let a nice gibe pass me by; Dudley was panting like a racer dog, "Hey, Big D, nice workout, eh?"

Aunt Petunia's lip was pursed and there was a dangerous throbbing to Uncle Vernon's vein. I was pronounced family close to five hours ago, though, so this friendly thrust would be ignored. Let the duel commence!

I was mighty disappointed by the lackluster "shut up, Potter!" parry. I decided to let it slide and show a little concern over him who was the "innocent victim caught in the crossfire," though not so innocent as one might deduce. "Oi, D! Mind if I call you D? You alright?"

Two flights of stairs up, onto the solid ground. I could just prostrate myself and kiss it, which would've been embarrassing. I refrained—the embodiment of self-control, that's me.

Dudley managed to talk even though he was still panting from the exertion –for which, I gave him some credit. Internally, of course; I wouldn't get caught praising Dudley, no sir, no bloody way!- "What the fu- fudge is it to you!"

Oh, boy! Wasn't he angry!

Aunt Petunia frowned but otherwise just kept her focus on the muddy path. Uncle Vernon, on the other hand, was beaming over the almost-swearword. Such a functional family is rare upon this Earth. He did get the cue Aunt Petunia was sending after a while, "Boys, why don't we get out of this rain and find us dry beds?"

Dudley wasn't above showing his displeasure via growls and groans, but seriously, why was me not getting a tongue lashing such a bad thing? It was surely a good thing no matter what your point of view might be, right?

Anyway, the place was dismal; every surface without was covered with either dust or moss. The hinges of the once upon a time sturdy oaken door was supposed to be decorated as fleur-de-lys probably, but the rust had eaten away any detail one would expect to find. Even the door seemed to be falling apart.

Uncle Vernon shoulder his way in and considering his mass, the door must've been stronger than it appeared to be not reduced to splinters. It wasn't pretty within by any means; three chairs and a table that should have health hazard signs on them, two room kind things –thankfully one had two beds and a radio that looked like it had seen better days, much better days. Oh, by the way, what's the rationale behind three chairs? I mean a table, four sides, a chair to a side, or two chairs at two sides if it's rectangular. Sometimes it was really hard to understand people.

I found a pack of fags on the mantel. They looked utterly poisonous what with the moss covering the pack and the fags. "Anybody got a light?" I asked.

"I won't have that kind of behavior!" screeched Aunt Petunia.

"To light a fire. You know, the storm, the cold, survival- would've helped us greatly." Baiting people is so much fun!

Aunt Petunia was looking at me through narrowed eyelids. Oh, boy! "Vernon, give him something to light a fire with." Aunt Petunia orders, everybody obey. Leathers and a whip would go perfectly well with her attitude… Umm, and now I wouldn't mind an Obliviator.

Thank Merlin's smelly armpits somebody had left some firewood from sometime in this century; they would burn quicker than otherwise and give off less heat probably but we could probably survive the night with this much if somebody watched over the fire. Joy! Guess who that person would be?

I lit the fire and threw the pack I had found in it just in case Dudders began to show withdrawal symptoms.

It was getting very late but Uncle Vernon requested a word and sent Aunt Petunia and Dudley to their separate rooms, "Do you have some paper in your pack?"

"I should have some leftover waterproof parchments. There should also be a few quill and some ink too," I replied.

"I have a pen," he pointed out, showing the ballpoint pen in his hand.

"A ballpoint-" I sucked in a breath through my teeth, "not a good idea." I placed the parchment requested and added the quill and the ink I had offered. "So, what's the deal? Are you writing your will, Uncle?" I gave him my most innocent grin.

"That 'I don't care what's going on in real life; I'm just a clown' attitude won't take you anywhere!" he declared in a berating tone but he went ahead and explained his reason, "I'm writing a letter to Marge. We have a common acquaintance who's a criminal lawyer and he's supposed to be good at this sort of things if what he says is true." Uncle Vernon grunted, "We'll see how good he is, now won't we?"

For some odd reason, I found it hard to swallow. Then I realized that it was my throat, it had tightened. "Thank you," I croaked out and turned to the fire. It wasn't very strong but it did make my eyes sting.

He folded the parchment after a minute or two. "I'll need that ruddy bird of yours," he deadpanned. "Tell it to drop this letter at Marge's. The address is Dwelly Lane, Edenbridge, Kent TN8 6QA.1"

I opened Hedwig's cage door and coerced her to leave her perch for my hand. She did so rather reluctantly. She was quite possible affronted at being called an 'it." "Hedwig doesn't need an address, do you girl? You're a clever girl!" Hedwig perked up.

Now whoever said flattery doesn't work?

I accepted the letter from Uncle Vernon and let Hedwig grasp it instead of binding it to her leg. Some show of confidence would go a long way to make up. I opened a window and let her fly into the raging storm.

While I was over at the other side of the small room, I turned on the radio. The batteries weren't dead yet but there was only static.

Uncle Vernon spoke up, "Why don't you turn it off and go to sleep? It's getting late and we can't do anything but wait anyroad."

"Thanks Uncle but I think I'll stick around a little while."

"Suit yourself," he said and turned at a dirty window through which he couldn't have seen much.

"Say," I called and when I was sure I had his attention, I pointed at the double barrel shotgun that was inconspicuously lying on the table, "how do you use that thing anyhow?"

"It's easy; you break it by pulling this lever clock-wise," he pulled the lever in question at the back of the rifle, "and then press the barrel down," he did and the barrel moved down while the rest of the rifle was secure under his arm, "then you load the shells," he pulled the two that were already in the rifle out and placed them back in the grooves, "and lastly you close it," with an audible 'click' the rifle was ready to shoot again, "when it's ready, you pull one of the two triggers here; one shoots the left barrel, the other the right but I don't know which is which."

"Looks deadly enough," I commented.

"Not as deadly as a flamethrower… or a wizard's stick," the last part was said in a deep undertone.

I cleared leather so to speak and showed the intricately carved piece of wood and the phoenix feather buried within. "It certainly was impressive; I could see the shapes, you know- the ones the flames turned into. There was a fox which turned into a tiger. There was a dragon, too." I hesitated before showing weakness in front of my uncle, but I wanted to talk to someone, so it might as well be him, "I could've enjoyed the sight if I wasn't about to faint." I just smiled at this admission of inadequacy. I had to make a comeback now, "but Uncle, if you call someone's _wand_ a _stick,_ it's kind of a grave insult; sticks are just too thin and shapeless."

The double-entendre just flew over without notice…

"Wand, right." He grunted a little bit. He held out his hand for the object in question, "Might I?"

I'm not sure if my hesitation showed or not but Uncle Vernon certainly didn't react to if even if it had, but in the end, I relented and gave the wand to him, "There you go."

He studied it for some seconds and then raised it to eye level between the two of us. He seemed to be looking at it in a different light altogether, "How deadly is this wand?"

I accepted the wand back. Now how to answer the question? It was uncomfortable, to say the least, talking about how in the right –or wrong, depending on your point of view- hands, it could be _quite_ deadly. So I did what every normal person would do and ignored the question. "They'll have contained the fire by now, so we're going to have more visitors than only this lawyer friend, I expect. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

"Yes, you're right. We both should get some sleep." Thank Merlin he got the hint. It wouldn't be highly complimenting to Wizards and Witches all around the world to admit to carrying around an instrument with the potential of a nuclear bomb as if nothing was amiss.

I renewed the fire from the cinders the rotten logs had become, turned off the radio and entered the small room with the two beds. I was ambushed by Dudley right away.

"So what did Dad talk to you about?" He inquired.

I suppressed a groan, a very loud one. "As if you weren't listening in!"

"Yeah, well… Anyway, so you're going to have a trial, huh? Lawyer and all that…" He screwed his face and went to the bed he had claimed as his own.

I returned to my own bed and faced him. "I don't really knows, Dudders. That really depends on what tricks Dumbledore has up his sleeves." Dumbledore's words sure had a lot of weight but I had used an illegal spell on a Dementor, which was basically a Ministry property. I was on thin ice at best.

"So you're in deep shit, aren't you?"

This was funny! "My, Dudley! How fast you grow up!"

He showed his annoyance through a frown, "Shut up and answer the question!"

I laughed out loud at his face which looked more like a potato than a human face. My laughter didn't help that problem any either. "Yes, Dudley," I replied through laughs, "I'm so deep in it, I'm eating and breathing it." That statement did sober me up a bit; admitting that fact to someone was the thing necessary for it to sink in, it turned out. Yet I wasn't really sure if I wanted to return to the real world right this moment.

I let my head hit the pillow and stared at the odd patterns of the stones about four meters over my head. It looked very low, suffocating even. I listened to the waves crashing at the rocks and the storm sending raging winds. Not long after I thought Dudley asleep, I heard a muttered 'thanks' in a very low tone. I might not even hear it if I hadn't been listening to everything around me. I thought about asking if that was all I was going to get after saving his fat ass and getting into a shit load of a trouble doing it but I decided against it. I accepted the gratitude gracefully, albeit a little moodily, "you're welcome, Duddikins- anytime..."

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><p>1 The address is to a "Haxted Kennels" in Edenbridge. It's close to Surrey but not close enough to visit it every weekend. It's also appropriate as Marge is known to breed dogs.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III – Meet the Lawyer and One More

I don't have any problem with mornings but this one was a fucking pain in the ass; with all the excitement of yesterday, my whole body was a bag of nerves. And now I had to face a criminal lawyer, Albus Dumbledore or someone he sent and the Ministry all within the space of a day. Hardy-har-har! Now who had the bottle of rum?

There were three loud bangs on what passed in this dilapidated as a door bright and early. As the rest of the family was still asleep, I opened it. There he was, my lawyer.

The guy had a receding hairline in the front and his chestnut hair was gelled to the side. I had no idea whom he was getting fashion advices from but I did want to hire the same guy. It would probably make an easily observable dent in my vault, though, that much was unmistakable. The most worrisome part by far was the glint in his eyes as he looked me in the eye; he had a trickster predator's look- he had the same eyes a cat would have while fucking with a mouse it would sooner or later devour.

"Hey, kid," he greeted, "would you terribly mind running along and calling Daddy for me? Us grown-ups got some business to take care of."

Yankee, then. "Don't let Uncle Vernon catch you say that, my jolly good sir! His heart isn't what it used to be!" I intentionally adopted a heavy British accent and mannerism, closer to Australian, actually, for this friend of ours across the pond. A lot of exclamations, check.

"So you're a nephew. Good Lord! I should've guessed; the resemblance is non-existent!"

"Do come in, sir, do come in!" Repeating the same expression twice, check.

"Where did you grow up, kid? The Buckingham fucking Palace?" He asked as he stepped into the house.

"Tsk-tsk! You have a tongue most foul!" Insult people, check.

"I sailed sixty miles aboard a damned boat. You know how unpleasant that is? Those things aren't made for long voyages. So stop wasting my time." He was getting irritated…

I relented, "Easy there, I'm just messing with you." I walked over to where the door to the adults' bedroom was in a total of five steps and knocked on the door. "Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, the lawyer's here."

Groans and growls. Uh-oh! Uncle Vernon isn't in a good mood…

The bed creaked some, the door some more and both adults graced us with their presence. The commotion must've awoken Dudley, too, because he too made himself available.

"Paul, my good man! How have you been?" Uncle Vernon all but hugged the man. Interesting.

"Good, good. The years've treated you well, I see." He turned at Aunt Petunia. "This must be Petunia, the master chef whose treats you obviously can't get enough of." Then he faced me and Dudley, who had made his way to my side. "So who are these fine gentlemen? If the black haired one is the nephew, the other one's Vernon Jr.? Do they have names? Can I keep one?"

Hey! I'm not a stray or something! Uncle Vernon was laughing throatily and Aunt Petunia was giggling like a high school girl. Dudley, it seemed, was the only one to share my indignation.

The man was the type who couldn't keep his mouth shut, it seemed. "Good thing Marge kept this place, huh? What the Hell did you do this time?"

"This time?" I asked. "Do go on!"

The man completely ignored me. And here I was just beginning to like him.

"I'm famished. Let's re-discover civilization and get us some fine British breakfast."

With that, we sailed back to England Proper, but this time on a motor boat at least. The storm had also blown off its rage. There was a beauty to it that I could never describe; the rocking of the boat made you painfully aware that you weren't on solid ground but it only added to the excitement, the line the screws left on the water made it obvious whence we had come from, we even had an escort of dolphins following us in a loose circle as if to protect us from the wicked occupants of the deeps. There were at least three; sometimes they were fully submerged, sometimes you could only see their fins and they moved side by side with what they must've deemed a curiosity, the boat. I wasn't very good at swimming, so I didn't even try to reach out. The sharp lines of teeth located within the snout like mouths had nothing to do with it. Nothing, I tell you.

"Big D, check this out!" I shouted over the engine noise. The boat wasn't big by any standard but he was at the fore while I was at the aft, so communication was a bit hard.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"Dolphins, mate! See their outlines?" After a second or two of pointing at the dark spots, I saw one breaking the water, "there! Did you see it!"

The lawyer, named Paul it turned out, had sneaked up on us and he was so close that he nearly gave me a heart attack. "You'll cost me my fish bait but, here, give 'em these." He opened the container he was holding in his hand and showed us the semi-rotten fish. "Careful though; if one jumps to grab it, drop the fish, otherwise you may finish this adventure with only one hand."

"Don't sneak up on me!" I chastised the older man, but I did grab the container and placed it securely between me and Dudley.

Dudley had a crunched up nose, "It bloody stinks!"

I picked a meaty fish, slippery though it was, and held it out toward the sea from under the guardrail. These dolphins didn't seem to have much of a situational awareness; none had noticed the quadruped holding food in his hand. I cast the fish I was holding out into the sea and watched it disappear within the second. After five or so more fish thrown into the sea, the dark spots were now fins moving above the water level. So I had these guys' attention!

And Dudley's, too. He was intently watching what was visible of the group of escort which now numbered five. "Want to try?" I prodded.

Dudley shrugged and commented, "It's gay."

"As in lighthearted merriment? I'd never have guessed you could utilize such complex locution, Duddikins!" I might have been a little cruel with my remarks lately, but hey, I' had the shittiest day of my life yesterday, so I was allowed a little fucking passive aggression!

"Fuck you!"

Such eloquence! "Don't hold it in, Dud- if you have feelings for me, just come out and say it." I even winked at him.

I had totally forgotten about the dolphins, and consequently I almost lost me a hand. I gave up on this form of entertainment and turned the container over from the side of the boat and let the fish-like monstrosities fight for their food.

"Anyway," I sidestepped from the conversation as teasing Dudley had also lost its appeal after my near-amputation experience, "I'll check out what kind of a guy this new lawyer of mine is."

"Hey!" exclaimed Dudley, "I didn't mean you. Gay, I mean."

I shrugged in a most casual way, "Nah, it's okay. If anything, I should be the one apologizing; yesterday was one of the shittiest days of my life and I guess I was taking it out on you guys."

"It's okay;" Dudley parroted, "it's the least I can do for saving my ass back there."

I was about to turn toward the bow but hesitated for one second. I was feeling like there was something that needed to be said but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out quite what it might be. So I turned on my heels –a huge feat considering the rocking of the boat as we approached the mainland, or what passed as the mainland in Britain, with the coastal tides.

As I approached the bow, Paul addressed me, "So _you_ are my client,huh? Not Vernon here?" He pointed at Uncle Vernon with his thumb over his shoulder, "I'm surprised because you wouldn't believe the trouble he got into way back when."

"I'm sure stories of our childhood can wait," Uncle Vernon interjected, "for an indefinite amount of time…"

"I feel you;" Paul placated Uncle Vernon, "no telling embarrassing stories to the kids." He mimed zipping his mouth. "Tell me, kid, what have you done to need a criminal lawyer?"

"Shouldn't we wait at least until we get a bite to eat?" I was grumpy and hungry; it was no wonder I was in no story telling mood.

"Sure," Paul said, "you're paying me a hundred quid an hour, so it's your call. Whenever you want to talk, talk. Oh, by the way, when I say it's you who's paying me, I mean it's you _personally_ who's paying me- Vernon's money is no good here. You got any household skills? Gardening? Consider this as a payback for your cheek back there."

"You talk too much." I observed.

Paul laughed heartily, "Kid, that's what you're paying me for!" He pointed at me like children playing at gun would, "If your ass is on the line, better call Paul!" He winked.

"Paul," Aunt Petunia made an almost cooing sound, "is such coarse language strictly necessary? The children don't need to hear such words from adults."

"Petunia, darling," Paul cooed right back at her, "they've already heard much worse, believe me. I'm sure they can even produce novel swearing much filthier than this."

Uncle Vernon was looking amusedly at the pair, "Paul, stop hitting on my wife when I'm right here! And Petunia, I think Paul has a point there."

Manly men swear up to Heaven and down to Hell, right!

"Do you have any particular place in mind where we can have breakfast?" I asked. I couldn't care less about money; I had enough of it to last me a life time or five which I didn't even want as it had come to me at the expense of parents. I looked at Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

"Well, I'd seen a town a few miles back when I was coming but towns are bad because town people are comparatively more informed, so we're going to a fishers' village that, according to this map, should still be existent. The map is at least two years old but it's still reliable and I see no reason a whole village should up and disappear in two years. Hopefully there we can find us a diner or something."

I didn't see the point in telling a Muggle I could imagine a few reasons for a village to 'up and disappear' sometime between the dusk and dawn such as, say, Voldemort's resurrection. My fears were ungrounded as the village was there like promised but until a fishing boat spotted us and came over to guide us towards a small harbor that looked more like a bluff, we had been preparing to anchor the boat and take the inflatable life boat ashore. Good news was I didn't have to look for the damned waterproof bag anymore.

With the help of the fishers moving along three lines of piers that extended from the beach over the water about two hundred yards, we moored the boat and went ashore. Everybody was being extremely helpful, even to the point of ridiculousness. So naturally I wouldn't stay here for the night in case the place turned out to be a slasher B movie kind of a village and they hunted down and ate strangers in the dead of the night. I just smiled at nothing and no one in particular as I walked on the gang plank which formed a makeshift bridge between the boat and the pier. It was hard to walk it despite the bulwark after getting used to the motion of rocking left and right when the motion changed to up and down. The nervous smiling, the change in motion and the unease I felt from watching the three adults actually mingling with people who might want nothing more than cook take off our heads and cook us over the fire in big, black cauldron standing on a tripod- mind occupied elsewhere, I took a misstep and was about to topple over the bulwark when I felt the collar of my shirt digging into my throat. When I turned my head around, I saw Dudley holding the back of the said collar. "Thanks for saving my ass," I expressed my gratitude, "but I think we shouldn't get too used to saving each other's ass; people might begin to wonder." I let a half smile which I would normally reserve for hot women show on my face.

Dudley scowled fiercely, "Yeah, well, you were blocking my way. Now move along; I'm hungry!"

At this point, it was a huge problem- feeling sorry for bums and Bohemian artists who had no money to buy food because they had spent their last on drugs, I followed Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Paul the Lawyer to a pub slash diner place. It was the only place in the whole village where food and drinks were served- not that I was much into drinking being as of yet still underage.

The place was small but it had a cozy feeling. From the counter with the stools to the four booths spread around the rest of the place, it radiated a feeling of coziness. Maybe it was the fact that everything looked so well used but kept in a good shape. The stuffed animals –two foxes and a few birds of prey here and there- and the fur of possibly a bear hanging on the wall contradicted the safety one would normally feel in such a place though.

A cute waitress welcomed us in an accent that was foreign to my ears but very much intelligible. Shelly or Ashley or something along those lines was her name. The owner of the establishment most likely had a waitress fetish, obvious from the way she dressed. Either that or the girl herself did. OR she was so desperate for tips that she didn't mind the professional hazard serving drunken patrons in such a provocative dress presented to her health. She made to take her leave when Paul ordered 'Full English Breakfast all around, he's paying,' pointing at me while he was uttering the latter sentence.

"Wait a sec, Shirley darling," Paul halted the girl. "I love the song playing right now, do you mind turning the volume up a little bit?" He held out a ten pound banknote.

Shirley grabbed the proffered banknote and made it disappear into her apron within the second. "No, I don't mind at all, sir! Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Mind, please get out of the gutters?

"Sure do! Now that I think about it, this radio channel sounds like my favorite. Why don't you keep the volume up for the rest of our stay in this fine establishment?" Paul said and held out another banknote, this time a twenty.

Shirley accepted this one too and with an insight most people wouldn't expect from someone of her age, she told that she would be in the back until our orders were ready and to call her if we needed anything else.

Now that we had some privacy and the Dursleys were having a whispered conversation between each other, Paul turned to me, "Now that the breakfast you so impatiently had been looking forward to ever since I've met you is an imminent prospect, kid, tell me what you've done. Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Give me a quid."

"What?" I asked dumbly.

"A quid, you know, the banknote of currency which represents the least amount of buying power."

I fished for money in my pockets but I only had a Galleon and some spare Sickles and Knuts. I gave him the Galleon.

He looked at the coin with incomprehension. "What _is_ this, kid? Are you in a cult or something?"

The exclamation drew the Dursleys' attention from their conversation.

Cult? Huh? Where did that come from? Bewildered, I tried the only thing I could come up with at the moment, "It's a gold coin, isn't it worth more than a quid anyway? Look, I _can_ explain where it came from but you have to give me your word for confidentiality."

"Ah, confidentiality is my middle name!" After that, he pulled a few pages that had an official look to them and a pen which turned out to be a fountain pen from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed me the pen. "Sign this, here," I signed the top paper at the top, "and here," I signed the one under it too even though I couldn't really read the paper from the little opening that Paul dog earing the paper on the top left me, "and here," I did put my signature on the third one too, "and lastly, here; this one's just for you."

"Shouldn't I read these before signing or something?" I asked even as I inked the last paper.

He brushed aside the question, "nah, you would've objected to some points if you'd actually read the papers but seeing that we're going to do business –isn't that right, Vernon?- that would only waste our time- I don't negotiate with my clients, I only negotiate on their behalf."

Paul hailed Shirley over who was lingering as far from the table as she could be with plates full of delicious food.

Gratefully accepting a plate, I conceded that he had a point there and began telling the story beginning with, "I'm a wizard," right after I took a big bite out of the bacon. It probably wasn't the best idea as it turned into a question and answer discourse when Paul didn't hear any contradicting statement from any of the Dursleys. Paul was surprisingly receptive of the idea throughout the session; maybe my turning his teacup into a turtle and back while his spoon and fork were locked in a very intimate and suggestive tango, dancing in step with an inaudible song had something to do with it. Shirley wasn't a curious girl, thankfully.

When I got to the part I spotted the Dementor coming closer, Professor Dumbledore came in checking his clock as if he was merely keeping an appointment. Umm, what the fuck?

"Hello, Harry. I hope I didn't miss much?"

I stared at him openly and with an open mouth to boot. I wondered if Professor Dumbledore had a direct line with God or another omniscient being. As this was Dumbledore, it was quite possible.

"Not really, Professor. I was just about to tell how we got into this cluster fu-dge."

His eyes were twinkling like a grandfather's would upon aiding and abetting a favorite grandchild with stealing cookies out of a jar beyond the child's reach. Hey, swearing is immoral folks! Don't you know that? Regardless, I wasn't about to voice any objections.

"By the way, Paul here is my lawyer, and Paul, this is Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Just the man I'd like to talk to," Paul said. "If you don't have any other commitment for the day, could I take a few hours of your time? I'm defending the kid but I haven't the slightest idea how to turn the gears and how to grease them, so to speak."

Turning the gears? Greasing them? "What exactly are we talking about here?" I asked. Clearly there was something I hadn't quite caught on yet.

Paul adopted an amiable expression, "Kid, there're two kinds of lawyers. The first kind defends their clients to the best of their abilities the conventional way. The second kind, on the other hand- they make problems disappear, one way or another."

"He's good at what he does-" Uncle Vernon assented, "not that I would know from first-hand experience." After what was most probably a slip, Uncle Vernon fell silent.

Professor Dumbledore observed the man for a second or two. "We might need someone of your… expertise; the situation is rather delicate as I'm sure you can appreciate."

"Sure I can," said Paul, "our hero-boy here is accused of committing a crime which wasn't even crime at all. I'll go even further and say that as these Dementors he's engaged were threatening the lives of two innocent people, the true victims in this case, and couldn't be trusted to just go away and not bother anyone else if somehow repelled, it was my client's moral responsibility to kill them by any means necessary. Such a shame he couldn't get the other one, isn't it?"

Dumbledore studied the man again, "You're an intelligent person, Mr. Goodman… Is four p.m. today agreeable to you to talk about Harry's case among other things? Any place of your choosing would serve our purpose, I'm sure."

The man didn't seem bothered in the least by the fact that Dumbledore somehow knew his last name when even I hadn't know up until that point. Quite the character, he was.

"Four p.m. it is then, at my office. Here's my card."

"So Harry," Professor Dumbledore addressed me smiling sincerely, "do tell us how you've been called on to do your moral duty."

It didn't take long as the whole event had taken place in a minute or what felt like a minute from the start of the chilly feeling to going back to Privet Drive Number 4.

While everybody was absorbing the information I had provided and the commentary, compliments from Dudley, Professor Dumbledore decided to drop another bomb-shell, "I don't believe the security of your home has been violated. If anything, this event seems to have brought you closer, I am delighted to note. Now here's my dilemma. I've come here to take Harry to his Godfather's place; it has a dark feeling to it but they're working to improve the conditions even as we speak, but seeing this camaraderie, you may opt to stay with your relatives, Harry, until your trial. It's your choice. Oh, and I assure you Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, despite the rumors about the said Godfather, he is as harmless as a dove." Dumbledore let out a mirthful laugh and I sniggered. Sirius would have a heart-attack if he'd heard himself being described as a harmless dove.

Anyway, the choice was between newly acknowledged family and the cool Godfather. I felt ambivalence for some reason. Two days ago, it would take me about a split second to decide. But now- now it was kind of different. Then I found another way, a middle way if you will, "Dudders, want to see a live serial killer?"


	4. Chapter 4

I said I would update sooner but couldn't keep that promise. Sorry about that.

* * *

><p>Chapter IV – The Grim Old Place, the Godfather, Mass Murderer Extraordinaire and Friends<p>

Fucking awesome! Have you ever seen two houses move aside and make way for another house which used to be hidden but revealed itself part by part out of thin air? No? I guess you wouldn't have, but I have! The Grimmauld place, Number 12- the name was quite fitting as the place was both grim and old in spades even if one was to judge the whole house by its entrance. The imposing portal through which the house was accessible had a ring that one could knock on the door and intricately carved though oxidized silver snakes that intertwined with other snakes reaching out from the wall.

Dudley, on the other hand, seemed to not notice anything at all; he was staring straight ahead through the house into the distance.

"Mr. Dursley," Professor Dumbledore hailed Dudley the Oblivious, "if you would hold my hand?"

Dudley did as Dudley was bid and we entered the house after Dumbledore undid the knot the snakes formed with a casual flick and twist of his wand.

Just as we passed the threshold, I heard an ungodly shriek like a chorus of banshees, "MUDBLOODS! TRAITORS! INSULT UPON MY FAMILY! IN THE HOUSE OF BLACK!"

"What the hell is going on?" I asked, shouting over the loud profanities.

"A MUGGLE? HOW DARE YOU! NEVER IN ALL MY LIFE-!"

"Harry," shouted Sirius, "meet my lovely mother, Augusta Black. Mother, this is Harry Potter, Dark Lord Voldemort's Demise."

"YOU! TRAITOR! HALF-BLOOD! SPAWN OF A SHAME!"

"Charmed, Mrs. Black," I answered the banshee of a woman.

Dudley was looking at the oil-paint portrait of the white haired, sunken eyed, loose skinned hag sitting on a throne-like armchair with his mouth open. "Dudley, this is apparently my Godfather's mother," after that I pointed to my right where Sirius was trying in vain to shut the curtain that would supposedly cover the portrait, "and this long haired guy here's my Godfather, the serial killer one."

Dumbledore hadn't pocketed his wand yet, it seemed, or the said device of magic materialized in his hand ex-nihilo because I hadn't noticed Dumbledore clearing holster or whatever contraption he had his wand in. With a jerk left to right and then right to left, he closed the curtains on both sides of Mrs. Black's portrait, watched by Dudley all saucer-eyed.

"That was such a warm welcome, Sirius! Can I take her as my hustler?"

Sirius frowned in annoyance facing the now closed curtains of red velvet spotted by age and mold. "If you can take her down, you can keep her for all eternity to do with it whatever you want. I don't think she would be of much use to you in certain areas, of course. So, you got yourself a girlfriend yet?"

I really, truly hoped there was no chain of logic in those sentences; even imagining about a logical pattern they might fit into would probably scar my delicate unconscious for that 'all eternity' he was talking about.

Then, thank Merlin's limp dick for the relief from the mental torture, there was a stampede and I had a frantic Hermione in my arms seemingly trying to squeeze the life out of me. I'll be damned! The girl had gotten as strong as an ox over the summer.

I laughed at her enthusiastic hug. "Hey, ribs bruise you know?"

Hermione released my poor, poor chest but swatted me over the head. "What was that for!" I asked in perfectly justified indignation.

"That was for breaking over fifteen laws that I could find in about three hours' research in the confines of this god-awful place! I shudder to think how many I can find in a day in a decent library!"

I decided to overlook the transgression and went on with the introductions, "Guys, this is my cousin, Dudley; Dudley, you know my best friend Ron, and the brown, bushy haired book-worm you've seen bashing my skull in is Hermione, my other best friend." Should I do, in my infinite maturity, a raspberry to enunciate my point, I wonder.

"Shall we take this introductions, and in one particular case, the reunion, to the kitchen? I can smell Molly's wonderful cooking, I believe!" Here was Professor Dumbledore, making an offer nobody would refuse, as always. Even the prospect was making my saliva glands work in overdrive.

There appeared some tension to diffuse between my two best friends and Dudley in the form of a staring-down contest when there wasn't anything to divert their attention. I wasn't so delusional to think that my newly formed bond with Dudley was anything but fragile and I didn't want to lose this newfound family as I was very much curious about what it all meant and what might be in store for me, so I decided to nip it in the bud.

"Come on! Dudley, Ron- food!"

Well, not a permanent solution maybe but it was a good start, right?

I gave Dumbledore a grin meant to convey the message 'disaster averted' which earned me a wink. Such a mush! Then again, that personality trait was one of the reasons I loved the man. I winked back at him just for the fun of it as Ron led the way and Hermione and Dudley followed him to the kitchen. He looked at me over his half-moon glasses. There was something mesmerizing about the way the old man was looking at me; it was as if he was searching for something buried so deep inside me, it took more than a cavity search to get to- which should never under any circumstances be read as such that it might even remotely imply I was partial to cavity searches.

Dumbledore glanced at the three in the kitchen being served by Molly Weasley whose self-restraint, by the way, I marveled at; how could she stand not giving me a hug as tight as a Medieval corset and begin feeding me like a pig to slaughter the moment I was under the same roof as had been her custom since I'd known her? Anyway, Dumbledore had something to say to me, so I turned my head back to face him.

"You've handled the situation magnificently, if a bit temporary and overly obvious."

Was he praising or not? Come out and say it, dammit! "Well, I wasn't about to form a ring and pit Dudley against Ron to sort out their differences, now was I? That's the only permanent solution I can think of."

Dumbledore gave a huge smile, "What a delightful idea, my boy! I commend you! I hear Dudley has been taking lessons on a Muggle sport named boxing the practice of which is done by punching your opponent repeatedly until one is incapable to do so, am I correct? I will conjure a ring for you three and I might be able to procure what you require for the sport if you could provide me a list?"

I had no idea what Dumbledore was playing at but it was suspicious as fuck, that was for sure. I did show my mood, too, by cocking my eyebrows in a most suspicious fashion. "And why would you want us to, as you put it, punch each other silly?"

"I have my reasons; two of which I may share with you. First reason, it is a good way for Dudley to keep up with his regimen; second reason, adolescents may prefer to solve their issues physically rather than verbally," he tapped his crooked nose with a finger, "so it would be a good way to blow off some steam as your generation put it." Dumbledore was mad, utterly off his rockers. Now I could give him a certificate to commemorate the occasion even.

"Alright then! By all means, conjure a ring and let us knock each other out!" And why the Hell not create a military simulation with all the assortment of equipment like barbed wires and live rounds while we're at it? Hell, maybe even a grenade or three just for the kicks.

"My pleasure!" The sarcasm dripping from my mouth as venom drips from a snake's fangs apparently went right over Dumbledore's head. Maybe I _should_ have articulated the part about the military simulation?

"Well, you'll have to ask Dudley for that list of yours," I said dejectedly.

Dumbledore patted my shoulder, "Oh, don't worry; I'll ask the boys to go easy on you. Hermione might be interested, perchance? You could try your luck with her first."

Umm, fuck you? "Why don't you castrate me while you're at it?" _Now,_ I wouldn't mind that ring being around Dumbledore and me, and looking at his nose and beard, I don't think I would have much of a competition there. "Anyway, if you want the full list of equipment, you'll have to ask Dudley."

"That I will do. Oh, before I forget," Dumbledore's face turned so serious so suddenly that I wondered for a moment if he had manic depression "do you feel anything slightly odd about the house, perhaps? Any feeling out of the normal, actually; it might be a feeling of being submerged or a tingling sensation, even lights that you might see originating from some space or an object? Take a look around you, walk a bit and then come tell me. In the meantime, I will go see to the list we were discussing."

I didn't really know about the normal Dumbledore was talking about but the house elf heads hanging on one wall or the troll leg umbrella stand, which I hadn't noticed before for some reason, couldn't be considered normal by any standard of the word. And they all were giving me the creeps. Did that count?

To the left there was a room with two sofas and an cabinet. The cabinet was riddled with knick-knacks; a music box, small boxes with foreign inscriptions, a metal instrument that was made out of iron, I deduced, from the reddish brown rust spots. I saw another interesting thing that was hanging on the wall; a tapestry which had a tree on it and upon the branches stood images of the Blacks of the time, long past and any in between. The left hand side was as important as a bug creeping in the next room as there were names such as Bellatrix Lestrange and Draco Malfoy. What was interesting about the right hand side wasn't what was on it, rather what wasn't. I traced the edges of the hole that was over the names Orion and Walburga, beside Regulus.

"Lovely people, my family," came Sirius' voice from over my shoulder giving me a right fright. "When I couldn't take their blood purity bullshit anymore, I ran away. I must've been blasted off this damned tree around that time." He pointed at another hole beside the names Cygnus and Druella Rosier, "And this is where Uncle Alphard should've been. I was his beneficiary, the pariah, so he received the same treatment. He was a harsh man, old Uncle Alphard, but fair; he valued purity of the blood but he valued family and respected others' choices more."

"He does look harsh alright," I commented. "Would he wear that frown all the time? It looks to me like a pretty stressful way to live."

Sirius let out a loud laugh, dissipating the somber mood. "Yes, he didn't smile much in his life time. In fact, I've never seen him laugh."

I traced another branch and let my finger rest on the name Draco Malfoy, "Nice relations you got here going, don't you?" I let out an all too innocent to be really innocent grin.

Sirius scratched his chin in seemingly deep thought, "Seems like I do, doesn't it? If I could get a hold of that brat 'nephew,' I would bend him over my knees and teach him a lesson he would never forget!"

That image was extremely disturbing, "Sirius, I don't think I can stand more of your dirty mind. Please kindly keep them to yourself?"

Sirius looked at me blandly for a moment then laughed like a mad man. "That dirtiness comes directly from your unconscious fantasies, my friend!" He patted me on the shoulder, "Joke aside, the Magical Community isn't very accepting of homosexuality. Before you say anything, I'm not claiming knowledge here, I'm just saying, alright? One more thing, if you ever date a Malfoy, I'll kill you in your father's stead, got it?"

"Got it! Anyway, not every Black here appears evil, right? See, there are seven names blasted off, so that's seven guaranteed non-evil-doers. Then there's Dorea, she married a Potter –does that make you my distant uncle? And Callidora here married a Longbottom."

Sirius looked somewhat ill at ease, "Yeah, distant uncle. Every pureblood family is bound to be related to each other. There aren't many choices if you want keep the line pure, you know? But come on, you aren't really interested in the history of the 'noble and most ancient house of Black, Toujours Pur,' are you?" He did give me a suspicious glare, probably in jest but you would never know with Sirius.

"Of course I'm interested! Don't you know? I've cast the Fiendfyre curse; next logical step is to get my very own goons, create a terrorist organization and lead them as their Dark Lord, right? Dumbledore thinks so; he asked me if I can 'sense a disturbance in the Force.'"

"Huh? What disturbance? What's a 'Force?'" I definitely should sit Sirius down sometime and make him watch the Star Wars franchise.

"Alright, let me rephrase that; Dumbledore wanted me to take a look around the house and see if I feel anything odd. It seems like he wanted me to check if I developed some kind of affinity for the Dark Arts seeing that this house is, no offense, riddled with it."

"That old wanker!" Sirius made an outburst of indignation on my account. "I'll give him a piece of my mind when I see him next!"

Well, now _that_ might not be such a good idea. "I think Dumbledore is mad enough without you giving him a piece of _your_ mind, Sirius."

I walked over to the cabinet and bent over just to inspect the objects from the glass front encased in a wooden frame with my hands clasped behind my back, adopting the mannerisms of a wise philosopher. Poise always matters! "So what are these?" I inquired in my infinite-wisdom voice; a deeper tone, spoken slower and with little inflection.

Sirius entangled my already unruly hair a bit more before speaking in what might have been revenge for some perceived affront or affection for my pretentious behavior, "Those, little Harry, are dark artifacts my family has acquired throughout the century. I have no idea what they do nor do I care to learn- for all I know, they might be some kind of S&M stuff my parents were spicing their sex life with. Well then! Now that I've managed to mangle my deteriorated mental stability as well as your non-existent one with images of my parents' kinky sex life, Godson, why don't we have a bite to eat? Nothing helps mental healing as tasty food."

Hunger did become a prominent feature again in my life upon the mention of tasty food, "Sure, right behind you." As I turned to walk out of the room, my elbow thudded into the wooden frame of the cabinet's front side. Before the event could register in my brains, I felt a prickle in my spine and turned around to face the cabinet again in reflex.

Sirius was faster than me in his reaction; he already had his wand out and blasted the metallic spider less than an inch away from my face against the opposite wall without uttering a single word of incantation. The man had spunk! It was reassuring to have a deranged, serial killer Godfather who was as it turned out ready both to clear leather and blast shit off very accurately at a moment's notice. Elevated heart rate aside, maybe even because of it, it was an exciting experience.

"Fuck!" I explained my sentiment most eloquently.

Sirius brought the tip of his wand to his lips and blew on it like a cheesy Western character. "I know, right? Don't let Molly catch you saying the 'f' word though, little friend; it's my very own ass on the line. I know what conclusion that woman is going to jump to."

"Yeah, sure, but damn! You've got to teach me how to do that!"

"Little Harridums wants to take off the baby gloves, is that it?" Sirius put me in a loose headlock by moving behind me and circling his arm around my neck and then proceeded to rub my head in a haphazard fashion with his free hand.

"Hey, cut it you maniac!" I shouted trying to wriggle free.

"Why? Or else what? Are you going to cry? Come on, cry!" He _was_ laughing like a maniac. Sanity was in short supply around here.

"Alright, I give up! You won, okay? You're the man!"

Sirius did set me free after the assertion of his supremacy over us mere mortals. "I shall impart my nigh unlimited knowledge of magic to you then."

"Educate me, o' greater one!" I exclaimed, and then added in an undertone, "So that I can pull a Sith apprentice off your ass!"

"I couldn't quite catch the second part?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, I was muttering about how great it'll be learning from such a great wizard as yourself, your Highness."

"Alrighty! Here comes the first lesson: never go hungry!"

With that we marched on toward the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

'Author's Note1' - Before you start with the chapter- capctr, thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate every single one of them. The last review left by capctr raised an issue I'd like to clarify: this story's focus is more on the familial aspect of Harry-Dudley relationship and how it might affect Harry-Petunia/Vernon interactions. That is to say, there won't be any smut! With this story, I also want to lay a foundation for at least two stories I have in mind –it's also quite possible that _every_ story I will write will presuppose the familial interactions within the Dursley household takes place in accordance with this story if not explicitly stated otherwise- because, frankly, I don't like sending Harry back to a negligent and sometimes downright contemptuous family. If I decide on such a drastic measure, I'll leave a note at the beginning of every story on where it stands relating this issue.

'Author's Note2'- That being said, one of the two stories I mentioned will be titled 'He's More Than Family;' as you can see, I'd like to try my hand at a romance story even though I don't think I'm very good at it. Thing is I find the notion of 'PWP' romance little more than cheap pornography, if that.

If I've misled anybody into thinking that there will be sweaty male to male action in this story, please accept my sincere apologies. I also apologize for the fact that this long explanation thing is about 300 words and it's counting into the story length; I hate when authors pump up their word count employing the 'A/N' part as a cheap tactic; that wasn't my intention at all.

With that out of the way, enjoy. And review, always review; reviews make my day ^^

Chapter V – Ladies and Gentlemen! In the Red Corner, We Have Humongous Dudley Dursley! In the Blue Corner Stands Harry 'the Scarecrow' Potter!

"What the Jesus _fucking_ Mary and Joseph!"

Upon retrospect, that should have sounded blasphemous even to the ears of a male 'witch' whom a man of Faith should not suffer to live, but on my defense, there was an old dude staring at me through his oil color reality and it was the thing I had opened my eyes to after the first night in my Godfather's house. Oh, sure, I didn't have high expectations but _this_ was low even for this place. Now I could honestly and seriously say to someone who had had experience with an uncle with whiskey-breath retrieving his hand upon seeing his nephew's eyes flutter open, 'Hey, I know how you felt at that exact moment.'

By the time I could kick the covers off me hastily –which probably had the exact opposite result than I would've wanted, namely slowing me down and making my body _more_ visible than when it was under the covers-, the canvas was devoid of any pseudo-life. To make the matters worse, Sirius had arrived with his wand drawn from the next room to the right on the topmost landing with a barely intelligible 'Whassappenin?' on his tongue. He should have waited at least until he had a modicum of blood circulation in his _other_ brains before drawing his wand- slurring incantations couldn't be good and sloppy wand work was just unacceptable considering he had come in here to save my life.

I took Sirius' act of running a hand down his face as a sign of half a wake up, so there was a chance that my traumatizing experience would actually register, "I never knew your brother had a thing for old dudes;" I pointed at the painting which now displayed only a throne like chair in the exact likeness of the one I'd glimpsed at down in the dining room, "say, does it run in the family?"

For one second, Sirius looked at where I was pointing in sheer confusion, and then he saw the frame, his eyes barely in focus with the now vacant armchair and empty office. "Oh, that-" he said, "That's my great, great, grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black. You must've seen his name on the tapestry, right at the very bottom. He fancied that the Black family began with him; he would've been right if it were only the British branch. 'Toujours Pur' doesn't sound British, does it?"

I didn't mean to be rude, not in the least bit but I had to somehow keep him on-topic, "Sirius- old dude- at night- over my bed- watching me sleep-"

"Right," he said, "right. Unfortunately I can do little about it. Every portrait in this damn house has Permanent Sticking charms on them. I couldn't remove even one single portrait since I came here, and believe me it isn't for the lack of trying!"

The man couldn't keep on track to save his life, it seemed. Maybe his jaunt to Azkaban had some kind of a brain rotting quality to it. "I don't care about _any_ portraits except the one with the old dude _hanging over my bed._" Perfectly emphasized, at all the right places, for absolute clarity- it couldn't hurt to try, right?

At last! Sirius said two pig Latin words and then the portrait very dramatically faded to black. The visual effect made me almost put the upside of my wrist to my forehead with my hand facing forward horizontally, my fanned out in an eagle's claw fashion and mutter words like 'alas,' 'tis most unfortunate' and so on regardless of the context- oh, which, by the way was nothing but jolly as nobody would peep at my sleeping form from now on. No wonder I had a huge, stupid grin on my face. That would be why I was as grateful as I was when I thanked Sirius, "Hey, you're not so useless after all!"

"I may be old but I still have some juice in this body." And he winked, he actually winked. Could he have been cheesier? Not in this realm, no. Then again, for someone who had just answered his own rhetorical question, I was quite on my 'high horse,' so to speak.

"Be careful about what you dream, though; he won't be able to _see_ you but he can still _hear_ you," Sirius cautioned. "I know it's hard not to what with me sleeping in the room next to yours but I advise against wet dreams."

"Sirius," I said, "you're getting senile. Either that or you've lost your grip on reality."

Sirius' face morphed into an impish expression. "You know, I had this ragged charm back when I was still twenty. I still do. And now I'm a serial killer which means I'm dangerous, too. Do you have _any_ idea how many chicks I could score with in a single night if I could just get the hell out of this damn place?"

"Point acknowledged. Now get the hell out of this room so that I can change? Or do you have a thing for cute guys as your forefathers appear to have? Oh, and that reminds me- I'm cute, I'm a hero and I won the Triwizard Tournament; I think I could match you chick for chick, and _then_ double the number." I gave Sirius my best Malfoy imitation smirk, as if he weren't worthy of scraping shit from under my shoes. It phased him little, needless to mention.

"Challenge accepted, young apprentice. We shall meet a fortnight from hence to establish who among us the better man is. In the Muggle London, of course, as our infamy would not give leave for such endeavors. Let us see if your heroics will score you points there."

"First of all, stop butchering English! Second of all, we're not allowed to leave the building. I think. Well, at least _you_ are not! By the way, this topic of conversation is disturbing as it is- I mean, without me being in my boxer shorts, so would you mind _really _moving along so that I can put something on?"

And I gave him much credit for taking all this abuse with a straight face and leaving with his nose held high, dignity intact. I thought about even asking him to teach me how to do _that_, looking proud in defeat against someone half his age. My fragile pride couldn't bear that much punishment though, so I didn't ask.

I put a few articles of clothing on for some decency and went down to the kitchen, foregoing all the rituals of priming one's self as any teenager left to his own devices would. Seriously now, who would rather taste mint flavored tooth-paste than pancakes and bacon first thing in the morning? I had to endure the foul taste a few more minutes presumably but in the end it would be well worth the effort.

With this wonderful thought and expectation of a fulfilling breakfast in mind, I made my way down to the second landing where I found Dudley and Ron leaving their respective rooms. "Mighty good seeing you two didn't kill each other off yet. Not for the lack of trying, I assume?"

"Your cousin's a git!" Ron said hotly.

"And your friend's a weirdo." Dudley commented.

"I'm friends with a git and a weirdo," I said, "Now the question is should I go find a bum for a friend and complete the trinity of misery?"

"I don't think it necessary, Harry;" came a feminine voice from behind, "after all, a know-it-all would do just as well as a bum. Now that I think about it, _you_ could fill that role quite nicely, too."

"Great!" I dead panned without turning around, "You know how to make a man's day, Hermione. You'll make a man really happy someday."

"I'm happy to be of service," said Hermione, moving to my front so that she could show her gloating face better, "but there're some pressing matters, such as breakfast. And I know for a fact that if we don't feed Ron within the next few minutes, we'll have a really, really big problem in our hands."

I didn't tell her that we would have an even _bigger_ problem if she didn't change out of her sleep attire which consisted of a skimpy pair of shorts hidden underneath an oversized t-shirt; an explosive problem, figuratively speaking, that would blow up in _my _hand. So I just grumbled, "Same here with Big D."

"Shall we go feed the big guys, then?" Hermione suggested.

I was offended at not being included in the club of 'big guys' but the prospect of breakfast overshadowed my perfectly justified indignation, so I opted to simply nod like a bubble-head Jesus and go on my merry way toward the kitchen.

The breakfast was satisfactory, conversation light and company all right. Tonks, who had stayed over due to her pressing need for some sleep after some kind of top-secret mission, was introduced along with her extraordinary talent in metamorphosis. Metamorphmagus. It's magic, so you put a 'magus' at the and instead of the 'osis.' But it was still 'changing one's self,' magic or no. Interesting concept and a lot of fun. When Ron and Ginny began to ask their favorite shapes –a pig nose and a dog snout respectively- with even the level-headed Hermione partaking with her request of a forked lizard's tongue, something hit me.

I had been left out. Admittedly, now I was a part of the group who shared the 'inside joke.' Well, the term didn't really apply as the faces were funny regardless of your ties to the group -case in point, half-heartedly glaring Molly Weasley whose poorly hidden snickers were evident to everybody present- but I had just now been included in this little merry frolic. Took all the fun out of it, it did. Fast.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked, ever the observant one.

"Nah," I replied off-handedly. "Say, did Dumbledore happen to put up a boxing ring?"

Ginny answered my question instead of Hermione at whom I had directed my question. "He was doing something really early in the morning –the living room- but I couldn't figure out what. Are you talking about the square area with mats and ropes? Why do we box things in a ring? Aren't rings supposed to be circle and not square?"

Most people sitting around the table didn't realize how ignorant the questions were. Hermione was coughing into her fist and taking small bites out of the said fist for some reason. Dudley was looking at her as if she had grey skin, big and almond shaped eyes that were vertical instead of horizontal compared to human anatomy and very long, very thin limbs. I just wanted to cringe. Her sound was perfectly fine a few moments before but now suddenly there was this disturbing screech-like tang to it, I just wanted to scratch a black board and rub sharp iron against iron just to drown it. I could easily and very satisfyingly shouted one of the best and most useful acronym ever invented, 'STFU,' but with epic restraint, I chose not to.

"Wanna train some, Dudders? I know I could use a few pointers."

"Okay," he said, "let's check it out."

I dabbed at my mouth with the kerchief and rose from my seat with all the might of an inbred fifteen-year-old with entitlement issues. "It's been most fun but if you would excuse me."

I used a Hover Charm to pile my plate on Dudley's, put the utensils we had used in it and send all to the counter. Just to rub in the fact that I had the balls to use magic while Ron, Hermione and Ginny didn't. It was vindictive of me, petty even. I didn't do Devil-may-care, either. These two facts were by no means a deterrent on the instant gratification that I felt upon seeing the sour expressions.

"Come on, Duddykins- let's go! There's fat to burn and muscle to earn."

As I left the kitchen that was full almost to the brim, I was hoping that the expression on Dudley's face wasn't an insinuation toward my ability to rhyme. "Thanks for the save back there, Big D."

"What save?" he asked in clear confusion.

Damn, and here I was thinking I was the oblivious guy. "So you haven't seen the static current leaping out of me or felt the sudden drop in the temperature?"

"Huh?"

"Huh. Anyway, long story short, now I'm kind of mad at them. So you're going to teach me how to beat them up in the ring." We had reached our destination and were standing in basically a gym- with weight sets and punch bags and all. Dumbledore had outdone himself yet again.

Dudley squirmed a little bit. "It's cool- the room. Exactly how I described your teacher."

"He's the headmaster of my school. But back to the matter of me kicking some magical ass: How do I do it?"

Dudley's composure changed instantly when we walked into a space in the back of the room that had been fashioned in the likeness of a changing room. This place, as it turned out, was his domain -not the changing room, the pseudo-gym in general; otherwise, it would raise some questions I wasn't very keen on thinking about. He was very comfortable as he took off his pants and t-shirt in front of me and changed into a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt, both very box-like.

I had become unintentionally aware of the fact that even though there was no ripped abs in sight, Dudley _had_ lost a lot of weight; there was, for example, no floppy belly that hung over his waistband. It made me acutely aware of my rather scrawny body. And now I had to un-remember all the fat jokes I had thought up on our way up. I changed too and we returned to the lion's den. "So what now?"

Dudley threw a pair of boxing gloves at me. "If you want to learn boxing, you got to roll with the punches." He put on his own pair of gloves and entered the ring from between a rope he had stepped on and another he had raised with his gloved hand.

Ugh, fuck? My inner dismay at the prospect of taking another beating from Dudley –and let's face it, that was what was bound to happen- didn't reflect in my tongue, at least. "So was it your boxing coach who told you that?" I tried to enter the ring the same way Dudley had but for some reason, the lower rope didn't quite touch the ground and I had to actually crouch because the upper rope wasn't as flexible as it had seemed.

"It was my Physical Education teacher. He was the one who recommended boxing to me." And he punched me in the cheek with a heavy left hook. Oh, don't get me wrong; I knew the terminology all right but when it came to practical knowledge, I had always been the one taking the punches, not the one throwing them.

I could've appreciated Dudley's strength and tactics better if I, my very own self, weren't the one taking the punch. "Ouch! Fuck!" I tried to throw my own punches –a right hook and a left uppercut if I had to be precise- in very rapid succession, too. Alas, Dudley knew how to block punches. He just covered his face with his hands and there was not a damn thing I could do about it. I took a few back steps. "You really know how to throw a punch, don't you Dudders. Well, I guess I can take some masochistic credit for that." I was ready for another punch in the face; I had my guard up just like Dudley and was watching Dudley's movement from between my forearms. "Omhp!" What I wasn't ready for was a punch in the stomach.

Dudley didn't press his advance even though I had dropped my guard completely as guarding my face and hugging my poor, poor stomach at the same time was an anatomical impossibility. "So why do you get to call me names when I don't get to call you names?" he asked.

"Call you _names_? You mean _pet_ names?" I asked back as soon as I had regained enough breath to talk.

"Yeah." he said without further elaboration. He still had his guard up.

"It's because I never had a pet name." I answered as I moved toward him slowly, deliberately; I was clearly outclassed, outmatched, out-whatever-ed when it came to boxing with Dudley but I still had some pride left, bruised though it might be. "If you want to call me one, you could ask the twins to make up one- they're really creative, you know?" Then I tried another right hook and a left jab. The first Dudley evaded by leaning backward just enough to let it hit his glove instead of his face and the second…

The second was interesting in that Dudley didn't try to block or evade the blow. He let it hit his cheek though I was aiming at his nose. Then he did something really, really, truly painful. It was also the reason that my jab hadn't landed where I had aimed at, but was turned into a glancing blow. I was so focused on landing the hit that I hadn't even realized that there was a straight coming right at my eye with the force of a locomotive.

I must've passed out before I hit the ground. I knew that because I didn't remember actually hitting the ground. Then again, there were quite a few things I couldn't remember right off the bat after I was pulled back into agonizing consciousness. What I did remember was that the same old dude from the morning smirking from yet another frame as quite literally flew in the air. It was like a snapshot but it was there.

There was a crowd hanging over my sight and they were all talking at the same time. It made understanding quite taxing, so I didn't even try. Dudley was hanging back a little bit from what I could see through small gaps in the wall of flesh. "Hey, Big D!" I called out- sudden silence.

Dudley turned at me with a dejected expression.

"That was one Hell of a punch, man! I think it made me see stars. I can't be sure" I rolled my tongue over my teeth to see if any of them had broken. "Good thing you didn't break my teeth, though; if you had, I would've kicked your ass."

Dudley smiled just a little smile that looked more like a grimace than anything else. "I'm a boxer, not a sadist."

"Well, that was fun and all but-" I began. Then I saw Ron. At a superficial examination, I found my bruises healed. The thick coating was apparently some kind of bruise-healing salve, so I wouldn't have a shiner to show for my glorious defeat. It meant I was good to go again. "How about a rematch? What do you say?"

"Well," he drawled, "if you're up to taking a beating, I'd be glad to oblige."

"Oblige?" I asked. "Did you get one of those a word a day calendars?"

"You're going to pay for that." Dudley threatened.

Upon further pondering, I realized that baiting Dudley might not have been the brightest of my ideas. I gulped a very manly, courageous gulp and entered the ring a second time under the watchful eyes of the spectators, a group of people that now included Dumbledore, too. The frame on the wall from which the old dude had been peeping according to my rather flimsy recollection was conspicuously empty.

Well, I might not know how to box but I had been trained on how to take punches from a very early age on, so even though there was no way I could actually win, at least my defeat would be a spectacular one. And so I put my guard up and began to circle sideways in the ring, matching Dudley step for step…


	6. Chapter 6

Warrants an A/N-

I- Re-posted the chapter because of it not being displayed at all previously.

II- I apologize for the almost abandoned state in which I left this story. On my defense, unemployment doesn't leave one in good enough humor to write. I hope I'll be able to wrap it up and send it on its way to 'Completed.'

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><p>Chapter VI<p>

Crooked Lawyers, Galleons, More Punches, Confrontations

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><p>The little, back-stabbing cunt! I did know that traitor had left the Weasley family but I guess I never expected him to actively sabotage my goddamn trial and try to put me in prison for good.<p>

Charges were absurd but understandable: violating secrecy act, performing magic in front of a muggle, vandalism, putting public at risk, use of dark magic, failure to report uncontrollable magic, performing magic in front of a muggle- oh, have I already mentioned that? That would be because I was charged with it TWICE! For Dudley and Paul. Being charged for THAT twice while also being charged with all the 'serious' stuff did make me snicker to be honest.

Anyway, long story short, I was facing life in prison. So, quite a few concoctions were applied in order to make me 'presentable' after our itsy-bitsy escapades with Dudley. Yeah, he had a really, really heavy fist. As in, I had to take Skele-Grow for the teeth, an assortment of healing salves for the bruises, depending on the level of havoc wreaked upon my fragile body, other potions for hairline fractures and so on. Good thing I had a pretty high pain threshold; mere mortals would more than buck under such flurry, they would downright prostrate themselves and worship him out of fear of retribution. Me? I was ready for another round just as soon as I regained consciousness.

Good thing it was only once a week.

But I digress…

Even from the previous digression…

The subject at hand is Percy Weasley being a cunt. Yeah, he was being that, but even though I was rightfully pissed off, I was NOT worried.

You see, Mr. Weasley and I had arrived at the Ministry half an hour prior to the trial and met up with Paul and Dumbledore. Dumbledore handed me back my vault key, presumably after giving Paul a pouch full of golden Galleons, which was not witnessed by anybody, nor could anything to the contrary be claimed under any circumstances. This non-existent pouch was then truly made disappear following Paul and Dumbledore's visit to the Minister's office, whose current occupant had a solid alibi in the form of Lucius Malfoy deep in the bowels of the Ministry.

If push were to come to shove, you couldn't even put Dumbledore, Paul OR the Minister in pairs, let alone all three, at the same place at the same time at any point prior to the Courtroom #12 within the whole month. Such strong remembrance of schedules and solid network of alibis might raise suspicions in a skeptic mind but, hey, if you can't prove otherwise, go shit up a rope!

In short, Minister hadn't seen it important to keep his secretary on the loop about his change of heart and Percy was damn too dumb to pick up on the clue.

"Opening statement and accusations leveled on this miscreant, Mr. Minister?" Percy prodded.

The Minister made a nonchalant sound that sounded very much like an after-sex 'ah' from the marble throne upon which I had perched, very much disinterested in the proceedings.

"I had hoped that we could have solved this…" the Minister paused, "issue in my office…" another pause.

The man had dismissiveness down to tee.

The Minister continued in the same manner, "but seeing that the charges are taken out of context and presented in a manner that is most serious, let us proceed, venerable jury of the Wizengamot, and I believe justice shall be done."

Witnesses were called after the charges were leveled, defense attorney and accusing party were presented, Paul and the Minister respectively, -though it felt more like both men fell in the first category what with the Minister's not-particularly-accusatory tone,- and it was time to call the witnesses.

"Let it be recorded that considering the event took place in a Muggle neighborhood and some witnesses, not to mention the defense attorney, are Muggles, exceptions are made in order for them to be present," the Minister stated, garnering quite a few disapproving frowns. Probably not a good idea. Percy dutifully wrote it down.

"Now, Mr. Goodman, please call your first witness," announced the Minister.

Paul rose from the other marble throne that faced the jury in an amphitheater like seating arrangement. He nodded at Dumbledore, squeezed my shoulder to convey confidence or something from what I could gather and then spoke loud and clear, "First two defense witnesses are Aurors Savage and Dawlish who responded to the emergency Floo and were first in the scene."

The two Aurors previously mentioned entered the courtroom from a side door to my right. They didn't neglect to give two barely noticeable nods to Paul. The man was good, nobody could deny that. It was a well-orchestrated play that was taking place here, not a trial.

The Aurors stopped after a few steps into the courtroom in full sight of the jury and turned right, facing the semi-circle of men and women, in a military fashion; one turned on one sole and one heel, the other took a transversal step forward and left.

I was impressed with the display to the point of taking notice of their appearance, however ordinary they may be: Plain robes in grey, one slightly lighter in tone than the other, a pair of moccasins and a pair of sneakers, average heights on both accounts, grey and balding hair on top of one head and thick, black hair on the other, one serious looking face and one disinterested. Well, interest goes only so far and I was never good at remembering faces OR telling one Average Joe from the other.

"Tell me, Auror Dawlish," Paul began pointing at a board with a roughly drawn plan of the park on it, "Does this plan represent an authentic copy of the plan you have drawn on your report?"

"Yessir," answered the younger one.

Onward Paul walked Aurors Dawlish and Savage through the events of the night in a way that made even me feel as if I were a hopeless, desperate victim in this scenario whose sole purpose was to save his beloved cousin from the Big Bad Wolf, and it bears remembering I was there. Not that I was about to contest the notion; there is a reason people like throwing out sob stories: They work.

The two were sent with the last words on an X marker and a line approximately three or four feet from the marker in real life scale, "Tell me what these two markers are, Aurors," enquired Paul.

The over-the-hill Auror spoke up, "That marker is the spot we have found the Dementor's ashes, and the line marks the direction in which Mr. Potter was dragged away by presumably Mr. Dursley, Mr. Potter's cousin."

Holy shit! If the map wasn't ALL fabrication, maybe there was some truth to that fucking sob story they had somehow concocted. Maybe being unconscious at the time had interfered with my ability to comprehend the gravity of my situation. All for the better, I supposed- nasty buggers, Dementors.

I kept my mouth shut. I had nothing to say, therefore I said nothing. I didn't need to anyhow considering how sympathy was oozing out of the collective face of the Wizengamot, or whatever this body of justice was called.

A guy from some department about relation or regulation or execution of magical creatures took the stage next. It was fairly short, just the Minister covering his ass by declaring the Dementors rogue and the attack a coincidence. Right! Coincidences and I go a long way back, so who knows?

Oh, now this ought to be good! The crazy cat lady down the street that I would stay over every once in a while and whose name I never bothered to learn took the stage. She was shivering like some equatorial fowl flying over the North Pole for fuck's sake! Whose idea was it to put her to task with this kind of shit?

She must have heard my mental objections, because as soon as the Minister began his questioning she got a grip of herself. Felt a bit rehearsed with lack of inflections that sounded suspiciously emotionless. Oh, by the way, she's a squib- never knew that part but it was good to know for future reference.

The last witness-slash-actor of the day was Dudley himself. He entered through the side door that all the actors and actress had entered, and not one that we had. Uninteresting detail but for the fact that he could turn his face just a little bit to let me see the glint in his eyes that said he was up to no good, and somehow school his face back into that of a hopeless and traumatized victim's; holy cow's topside and thickflank! I never knew Dudley could actually act!

Dudley took the floor, so to speak, and immediately went into a drooped stand. I could almost imagine Fudge giving Dudley a doll and asking him where the 'bad man' touched 'the doll.' Fortunately coughs into a fist can cover snickers pretty efficiently.

"Mr. Dudley," Paul addressed Dudley, causing Dudley to slouch in his direction and flinch and fidget just a bit for good measure, "we have a good understanding of what has happened objectively, but we would be amiss if we did not let you tell your story it is you who has the most intimate experience of it.

"On that note," Paul continued, "would you like to add anything? Anything that may have been missed? Anything you would like to get into the record?"

I watched as Dudley's head turned from side to side, presumably taking a look at the weirdos arrayed in a semi-circle in front of him. Side note, even I thought them weirdos in all their Wizarding glory.

"Thanks," Dudley began. And he cleared his throat in what, I concluded, could only be discomfort. "I just-" Dudley cleared his throat again. "I wanted to say-" His head bobbed up and down a few times as if nodding at some imaginary person before him. "I just wanted to say that it was desparate."

Fuck, Dudders! You sure know how to act! Who would've guessed?

"We were both about to pass out, Harry did even. They say if he hadn't killed that thing before he did, we would have both died."

Even though he had his back to me, I saw Dudley nod to himself again, "I'm glad he killed it, the Dementer, even though we have a lot of repairs to do back home now."

Thanks for the fucking generosity, Dudders! I mean considering I saved your life and all, what is one kitchen between us, eh?

"Thank you, Mr. Goodman," the Minister spoke up after having taken the back seat for almost the whole thing, " As you said moments earlier, we have a good understanding of what has taken place. So now I think now it is time we let Mr. Potter speak his mind and let justice be done."

Paul approached my marble throne after a congenial-sounding 'very well,' or 'might as well' -something that 'ends well,' so to speak- to the room in general. He was pretty much looming over me when he said, "kid, we got this pretty much wrapped up. Don't go on now and fuck it up with your cheek."

There was time for cheek, true, and right now couldn't have been furthest.

I stood up, moved a step forward and addressed the jury in a serious manner, "Thank you for giving me this opportunity but I think the facts provided speak for themselves. I have nothing further to add." With that I sat back down.

Paul gave a small nod of 'good job,' which was all I needed to breathe a sigh of relief. The only disappointment was that Dudley had already left. I would have loved to rub in his face the fact that I was pretty much above law in this world even though there was probably no end to the shit he could give me in the Muggle world.

Anyhow, we was bound to come across sooner or later, Dudley and I, so I just let the proceedings wash over me in a state of almost meditative relaxation. Only two expressions penetrated this fluffy cocoon: "acquitted" and "let's go already!"

And let them and I -which pretty much adds up to 'us' in any case- go I did.


End file.
